


The Coward Of The County

by BobbyP



Category: Kenny Rogers - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No sex or smut (sorry), Songfic, kenny rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyP/pseuds/BobbyP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kenny Rogers song 'Coward Of The County with John as Tommy and Sherlock as Becky. First ever post to An Archive Of Our Own, so it's a little short and it's not perfect. Tried to make sure spelling was okay, but there might be a couple of mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coward Of The County

_**"Everyone considered him the coward of the county.** _   
_**He never stood one single time to prove the county wrong."** _

John had never been a violent man. You see, John was only ten years old when his father died in the war. John's father was named Hamish Andrew Watson. And on the 22nd of August 1978, Captain Hamish Andrew Watson was discharged from the army after he was shot in the shoulder. They had managed to remove most of the bullet, but a small section of the shell remained lodged too close to his heart to remove. He was given little over a week to live, and was sent home to spend his dying days with his wife and children. Harriet, who was seventeen at the time, took it the hardest, spending the rest of her days pathetically crawling from one alehouse to the next in an attempt to drown out the memories. John, however, was different, and all because of the final words his father left to him, as a legacy.

_**"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done,** _   
_**Walk away from trouble when you can.** _   
_**It doesn't mean you're weak if you can turn the other cheek,** _   
_**I hope you're old enough to understand,** _   
_**Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."** _

And so he didn't. John Hamish Watson never joined the army, and all was well. He became a doctor. He healed, never harmed, and all was well. Not that he wouldn't prefer a title like "3 Continents Watson" or "Captain Watson", like his father before him, but he was glad to be the 'coward of the county' if it meant his father would be proud of him. That was, until he met Sherlock Holmes. The man was an enigma. Insane, brilliant, and didn't John love it.

It was an ordinary day when it happened. John sat behind his desk, finishing up his paperwork when who should burst in, but one Sherlock Holmes. As it happened, the patient John had dismissed just moments before was a suspect in a murder investigation. For reasons he couldn't fathom, John ran straight after the mad man, after the suspect, leaving his cane far behind. Once John had succeeded in tackling the suspect to the ground, and the police had taken him away, the two men had stood on the street, Sherlock readjusting his gloves and running his hands through his hair as he thanked John for his help. "No problem" John replied, distracted by the movements of Sherlock's hands as he tried not to imagine what it would feel like to run his hands through those gorgeous dark curls. He quickly shook the thought away, wondering where they would go from here. He hoped that this wouldn't be the first and last time he would see the mysterious Mr Holmes. He got the impression that he was very much the type to run into your life, change it forever, then leave you in the lurch. He really hoped that wouldn't be the case. He felt a wave of calm wash over him as the taller man gave him a gentle smile and said "Dinner?"  
John smirked. "Starving."

The rest, as they say, is history.

There's someone for everyone, and John loved Sherlock more than life itself. In his arms, he didn't have to prove he was a man. It was as perfect a match as ever was made. The Coward and the Freak. They fit together perfectly, achieving a harmony others could only ever dream of.

That was all to change, however. For there was a new gang in town; a drug cartel which Sherlock had been chasing for a long time. They called themselves the Red-Headed league, and they were well known as cruel, sadistic murderers. Of course, that didn't bother Sherlock, for he never was one to be frightened by Psychopaths.   
Of course, John had warned him not to mess with the Red-Headed league many a time in the past, but Sherlock wasn't going to let John's overly-protective objections stop him, so he waited until John was out at work one day, and set out to find the lair of the infamous cartel.

**_"One day, while he was working, the Cartel boys came calling."_ **

John returned to the flat to find it empty. "Sherlock" He called to the empty flat, wandering from room to room in search of his lover, only to be met with emptiness. He drew in his breath as he realised where Sherlock would surely be, and with a deep sigh, he reached above the fireplace, and took down his father's picture. As tears fell on his father's face, he heard those words again.

_**"Promise me, son, not to do the things I've done.**_  
 _ **Walk away from trouble if you can,**_  
 _ **It doesn't mean you're weak if you can turn the other cheek,**_  
 _ **I hope you're old enough to understand,**_  
 _ **Son, you don't have to fight to be a man."**_    
  
John reached for his father's revolver, which he had stored in his old army trunk beneath his bed, and set out to bring back his Sherlock.

\-------------------------------------

They were based in an old western style barroom a few hundred miles away. Obvious. The artificial sand mixed with the red dirt that can only be found in places such as these that was left behind along with the footprints definitely pointed to this general area, and the name of the bar "Rusty Red's Saloon" was just far to cliché for those exhibitionist idiots to resist.   
Sherlock checked his watch. John would surely have realised where he was by now. He didn't have long to find the proof he needed. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to wish he'd have brought John or at least Gavin for support. Graham? Geoff? .. Gary? ... George?  
Sod it, he just wished he had some backup.

He took a step towards the saloon. _Here goes_. His foot hadn't even hit the ground before hands clasped around his throat, as an assailant groped for his mouth with a chloroform-soaked rag.

_Sod it._

He really wished John was here.

\------------------------------------------

When he sank back into consciousness, he was inside the bar. He tried to bring himself to his feet, only to find his wrists were tightly bound behind his back.   
"Well, wouldya look at that, Seb? He's awake."   
Sherlock blinked in the bright light as he made a mental profile of all of the faces surrounding him. There were at least 7 red-haired men standing around the bar, but they were barely important, clearly just henchmen in whatever scheme this was.   
There were also two rather muscular twins, their wispy blonde hair messy on their heads as they stepped closer, faces twisting into matching smiles.   
A third figure sat on a large armchair directly in front of him, obscured by the shadow of the twins. Clearly he was the one calling the shots. The twins were at least Sherlock's age, if not, older, and both toting guns. The taller one, (Seb?), held a sniper rifle, and was clad in a tight white vest, camo combats and army regulation boots. The shorter one held a small pistol, but made up for the size of his gun with the numerous knives and blades strapped to any available surface on his body. He wore a tight black T-shirt, a jumpsuit tied around his waist and those same black boots.

Sherlock tried to talk, only to find he'd been gagged, too. Then, the figure in the armchair rose to place his face mere inches from Sherlock's own, his voice taunting as he murmured "I gave you my number, I thought you'd call."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, but otherwise, he gave no sign of his apprehension.   
"Jim says we can have a little fun with you." The shorter one growled. Seb stepped closer, the light spilling over his face, highlighting the savage scar that ravaged his otherwise rugged face.   
"Now, now, Sebby, patience. Mr Holmes is yet to be properly introduced to the boss." He smirked, as the twins parted in the middle, and 'the boss' drew closer.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He wanted John. John would save him. He would. He always did.   
In the past, there had been many a time when Sherlock would bite off more than he could chew and John would come to the rescue. That's not to say that Sherlock never saved John. They were fairly tit for tat in that respect, but this is John's story. The story of the Coward Of The County.

And just this once, John was too late.

_**"They took turns at Sherlock, and there was three of them."** _

\--------------------------------------

John burst into the bar, eyes burning with rage. Sherlock slumped on the floor by his feet. The men, at least 9, at a glance, sat on tables on the other side of the room, facing away from them. Clearly having grown tired of their little game and moved on. That was when John snapped.

_**"John opened up the door and saw his Sherlock there,** _   
_**The torn shirt, the shattered look was more than he could stand."** _

_**"You could have heard a pin drop when John stopped an locked the door."** _

The first two shots had been fired before they could even turn around, neutralising the twins before they had time to react.

_**"20 years of crawling was bottled up inside him,** _   
_**He wasn't holding nothing back, he let them have it all"** _

The unarmed men scrambled to reach their weapons, but fell like stones in water as John tore into them with the handgun, until only one remained. He was short, with dark eyes and an air of superiority John was all too happy to relieve him of. He lifted the gun to the man's head, and before he could even open his mouth to beg him to stop, John had planted a bullet in his head.

**_"When John left the barroom, not a Cartel boy was standing,_ **   
**_He said 'This one's for Sherlock' as he watched the last one fall."_ **

And even as he ran to help Sherlock to his feet, the words his father said echoed in John's mind. And Sherlock heard him say;-

_**"I promised you, dad, not to do the things you've done,** _   
_**I walked away from trouble when I could,** _   
_**Please don't think I'm weak,** _   
_**I couldn't turn the other cheek,** _   
_**And father I sure hope you understand,** _   
_**Sometimes you have to fight when you're a man."** _

**Everyone considered him the coward of the county.**  
No longer.


End file.
